A/N: This story was inspired by a drawing that my lovely Brazilian friend Ana (kkpx3) did for my birthday on Monday. She is currently working on an absolutely wonderful House/Wilson fic as well, and we've been working closely on our writings lately. So she is to thank for this. I've set the story icon as her drawing, please do take a look at it, and I dearly hope this story does it justice. Read and Review!

-ASG

Not three seconds after House tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and slipped out of his shoes, he found himself against the wall next to the front door of the loft, an extremely horny and naked James Wilson fighting to get his shirt off and expose the skin beneath pressed against his back. House could feel the younger man's already hard member pressing into the cleft of his ass through his jeans. As Wilson exposed House's neck and shoulders, his lips and tongue went wild, attacking all the warm flesh they could find. A fine shiver ran through the older man's body, sending bolts of electricity straight to his groin. When he was completely shirtless, he was mercilessly flipped over, his back now against the wall. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, Wilson was kissing him ravenously, tongue and all.

Cupping the bulge in House's pants, Wilson began to stroke him with a ferocity that only served to heighten House's arousal. As House fumbled to undo his belt and slip out of his boxers, Wilson produced a small tube seemingly out of nowhere, and, flipping House around again, slicked his hand and began to stroke the older man's neglected cock, grinding his own into House's bare ass.

The men stumbled to the bedroom, continuing to grope and kiss any body part they could find. Wilson layed House on the bed, kneeling in front of him, and began to prepare his entrance. The first nudge to his prostate sent stars swirling around his head and blood rushing to his already engorged cock. A whimper escaped his lips when the younger man withdrew his fingers, deeming his partner ready. The lust in Wilson's eyes was mirrored by the need in House's, but he wasn't going to let him get off so easily.

"Say it." Wilson growled, slicking himself up.

"I need you, Wilson." House hissed, barely capable of cognitive thought, "Please... James!"

That was all Wilson needed to hear. Thrusting shallowly at first, Wilson eventually sheathed himself and looked to House for confirmation. The slight moan that escaped his lips was all the agreement needed, and Wilson began to thrust wildly, the pressure in his abdomen quickly building. He angled his hips slightly, so as to reach for the other man's throbbing member, and struck inside his partner in just the right spot. House's hips bucked into Wilson's hand, and he began to thrust in time with his partner, creating a delicious friction that quickly sent both men sprinting towards the edge.

The sound of skin on skin and the men's heavy breathing permeated the thick air between them, Wilson's unused hand coming to rest in House's; their eyes locking in pure lust and love until the older man's cobalt blue's rolled back into his head and his entire body clenched and spasmed.

House came first, spurts of his seed landing on Wilson's chest, shouting unintelligible sounds in the midst of the high. Wilson followed suit, a moan so languorous escaping his mouth it was as though he'd never felt so good before. Perhaps he hadn't. His limbs turning to jelly, Wilson collapsed on top of House, panting and gently kissing the skin beneath his lips.

A thoroughly sated House rolled out from under an equally satisfied Wilson, groaning in contentment as he stretched out on the bed. Wilson, ever the responsible one, went to retrieve damp cloths to clean them off with. After cleaning himself, when House still had not moved to do the same with the washcloth lying on his chest, Wilson took the liberty to do so for him. As sensually as possible. Purring at his lover's touch, House rolled to face Wilson who smiled fondly at the sleepiness that always overtook the older man just after sex. It never failed. After returning the cloths to the bathroom, relieving himself, and slipping into a pair of pajamas, Wilson joined House in the bed- lying adjacent to him but not touching.

House was a curious character when it came to sleeping habits. Well, he was always a curious character. But especially in bed. Sex between he and Wilson was electric- emotionally charged and irrevocably hot- but after that level of unspoken and hidden intimacy was over, House usually was happy to sleep on his side of the bed. Wilson knew that if House wanted any more contact, he would initiate it. Sometimes he did, other times he didn't. And since peaceful sleep was something that so often evaded the diagnostician, Wilson didn't dare disturb what little he could get. Wilson peered at House's sleeping form and sighed a contented sigh. When he slept, his face relaxed entirely. Seeing House in no pain only occurred at two instances: on occasion when he slept, and when he was in the throes of orgasm. Wilson rolled over and allowed sleep to claim him as well.

At some indeterminate time in the night, Wilson came out of sleep briefly to notice that House was no longer in bed with him. Insomnia- whether because of pain or otherwise- was not unusual in the diagnostician, and Wilson had learned quickly to leave it well alone. Disturbing House while he was in pain or couldn't sleep would only serve to put him in an even worse mood. It was best to just let him be. Letting him be included allowing him to play the organ at ungodly hours of the night. Sometimes though, Wilson actually felt lulled and comforted by the music- although he'd never admit it. Tonight was one of those times, and he allowed himself to fall back into a deep slumber.

The next time Wilson awoke, he heard a crash and House swear someplace in the apartment. Not hearing anything else, he assumed the older man had simply knocked something over while pacing. But just as he was nodding off again, a gut-wrenching scream emanated through the walls. Rushing out of the room, Wilson was treated with a sight that practically tore his heart from his chest. Curled on his side, clutching his leg, heaving and moaning with agony, was the trembling form of the man he'd come to love.

"Oh god House!" Wilson breathed, kneeling next to him. "Let me get you something," he said, reaching for the upturned pill bottle adjacent to them.

House reached out and clutched his wrist. "Already took too many" he barely managed to whisper.

"But House…"

"No!" he said, with more conviction. His eyes pled with Wilson.

Knowing that, if House was refusing more drugs in this state, the amount he must've already taken far surpassed the safe dosage, Wilson had no choice but to agree."Okay. Okay House. Lets get you to the couch then, okay?"

Nodding, House reached up to Wilson, who wrapped his arms around the older man's chest and heaved.

"GAAAAAAAAHHHHHH" House shrieked, going limp in Wilson's arms. The simple jostling of the damaged limb was too much to handle with the already over-firing nerves, and Wilson gently settled him down again, sitting with him on the floor.

"House! You're nearly tachycardic! You need…"

"No… please… just… stay…. hold…." House hiccoughed, clinging to Wilson's pant leg.

Sighing in resignation, Wilson scooted closer to House, who rested his head in the younger man's lap. He was drenched with sweat, clinging to his thigh for dear life with one hand, the other curled around his body in shame. The screams he managed to bite back escaped his lips as meager whimpers. The lines engraved in his face were drawn gauntly by the light streaming into the hall from the living room. Wilson said nothing, knowing that, if there were words to take the pain away, he would have said them years ago. He ran his hands over House's body. Stroking his hair and upper back, hoping he was at least some comfort for the man who desperately needed it.

Time passed slowly. Each micro-movement of the two men sending House back into the pits of agony. He had long since given up trying to rub out the spasms- the touch itself being too much pain to bear. Simply clinging to his leg now, he waited it out, uncontrollable tears running from his eyes. Wilson was probably murmuring platitudes, but all he could hear was his heart racing in his chest; his breathing ragged and desperate. There were no words for the pain he felt. No number on a scale. No drugs to satiate the raging monster that was gnawing at his very soul. To think he could go from ecstasy to agony in a matter of hours was humiliating. It rarely if ever got this bad, and, although he'd never admit it, he wondered if he'd have survived it alone this time.

"Please make it stop." House begged, barely resisting screaming again- a sob escaping instead. "Please.. James!"

Swallowing back the tears he felt pricking his eyes, having heard that same plea only hours before- albeit for entirely different reasons-Wilson gently gathered House further onto his lap, being mindful of the damaged thigh. Holding him to his chest, Wilson placed gentle kisses up and down his head and shoulders, tears now streaming down both their cheeks. House leaned into him, his body heaving with the sobs, clinging to his shirt and relishing each touch.

More time passed, and House could feel that the end was nearing. The frequency of the cramps decreased, leaving behind a dull ache that radiated through his whole body, making him nearly too weak to move.

When his breathing finally evened out, he moved away from Wilson, curling into himself.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Wilson crooned, scooting toward the older man and placing a hand on his back. "Is the pain better?"

"Just go away, Wilson" House hissed, shielding his red, puffy face from view.

But Wilson stayed. "Why didn't you wake me before it got so bad?" He asked gently, refusing to heed the older man's request.

"It isn't usually like that…. You don't need…."

"I don't need what, House? To see you like that? Please. I have seen you at your absolute worst in every way, and I'm still here, aren't I? I still love you. So stop it! You deserve comfort like the rest of us. What would you be doing if I were in that much pain?"

House looked to Wilson with a terror in his deep blue eyes, shaking his head vigorously. "No no no no no. Wilson you don't understand… If you were… I don't think I could..."

"Shhhh Greg, it's okay. I didn't expect an answer. But that's how I feel seeing you like this. So stop being self deprecating. Let me be here for you." He smiled weakly. House, avoiding his gaze, nodded slowly in understanding. If he were to have to witness Wilson in such agony, he had no idea what he'd do. It would kill him to see the person he cared about so deeply feel such hurt. His chest ached just thinking of it.

Knowing House wouldn't be able to walk back to the bedroom, Wilson stood up, and squatted back to the floor. Scooping House into his arms and heaving a bit, he was able to lift the older man who- despite his tall and muscular build- was not as heavy as he'd expected. The pain had been worse lately; he'd not been eating as much. Wilson ignored protest from the man in his arms and made his way to the bedroom.

Settling House on the bed and kissing him quickly on the forehead, Wilson gently slipped the pajama pants off the older man and began to massage the destroyed muscle. As the exhaustion from the pain attack overtook him, House whispered his gratitude, barely audibly. His eyes slipped shut, succumbing to a fitful sleep.

When the damaged muscle finally ceased cramping, Wilson spooned up behind House, holding him to his chest protectively. "I'm sorry baby." He whispered in the older man's ear. "I'd suffer it myself if it meant even one day of relief for you. I'm so so sorry that I can't make it stop."

Wilson slid a hand down to the crater that was House's thigh. Resting it there as a vigil, just in case the pain decided to rear it's nasty head again. Again he whispered into the dark: "I'm so sorry."